


Box of Chocolates

by persephone_il (the_ragnarok)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-02
Updated: 2004-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:43:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/persephone_il
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, to receive <i>is</i> better than to give. Though it may have some unsuspected outcomes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Box of Chocolates

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chemistry](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2596) by Vyola. 



> Sharakh beta'd this, for which I owe her much. She rocks like a very rocking thing.

Jim stared at the giftwrapped box. "For me?" he said, his tone as dry as dust.

Sandburg smiled at him, all gums and shiny little teeth. "Come on, open it!" His voice had in it the kind of enthusiasm that Jim associated with picking up giftboxes and rattling them.

Jim did. Methodically. He peeled every bit of tape carefully and cherished the feel of Sandburg's anxious frustration. He folded the wrapping paper neatly and placed it in the garbage can before taking a look at the actual gift, which happened to be a box of chocolate.

"You know," Sandburg said, "they say life--"

Jim raised a finger. "Quote Tom Hanks to me and you're a dead man, Chief."

"You know, as threats go, that wasn't exactly original." Sandburg plopped into the chair next to Jim's. "Well, what are you waiting for? Those are some high-quality sweets there, my friend."

"You didn't even get me a card," Jim said, and set about opening the cellophane wrapping just as slowly as he had the wrapping paper. He hid a small, triumphant smile as Blair's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

"A card," Sandburg said, as if reflecting on the possibility.

"Yeah. I mean, since you already went to this much trouble. Or, what, a card is too much to ask for nowadays?" Jim considered, very briefly, batting his eyelashes. Whatever eyelashes he had, anyway. He decided against it; he wanted Sandburg confused, not rolling on the floor and clutching his stomach.

"Jim. You said a card. As in, a Valentine. Which is, by the way, an inappropriate commercialization of what started up as a religious issue, actually, not that things like that are a rarity these days--"

"Sandburg. This is the subject; please stick to it."

Sandburg rolled his eyes, but Jim could tell the guy was secretly relieved. He suspected that Sandburg occasionally spilled lectures for no other reason than to preserve his current wise-ass reputation. "As I was saying. I just got you chocolate to be nice, you know? Out of the goodness of my heart, nothing up my sleeve."

Jim sighed melodramatically. "Then I guess I'll just have to drown my sorrows in chocolate, then." He tucked the now-opened box into his desk drawer.

The look of desolation in Blair's eyes made Jim wish he had a camera.

"Oh, fine. I'll give you whatever's left when you've finished your classes today, okay? Give you a little something to look forward to." He clapped Blair's cheek lightly.

Sandburg was too busy checking his watch to duck. "Oh, crap," he said, already jumping off the chair and shouldering his backpack. "My classes, shit, I forgot--" He was already by the bullpen door when he remember to yell, "Bye, Jim! Bye, guys!"

"Oh, my paws and whiskers," Jim said, and absent-minded smile hovering on his lips. He opened the desk drawer, ferreted out the chocolate box and lazily popped one into his mouth. "I do believe he's late."

* * *

"Jim?"

If Jim had any doubts who could be calling him now, that voice laid them to rest. "What do you want, Sandburg?"

"If I got you a card, would you--"

"What?" Jim clapped a hand to his forehead. More rationally, he said, "Sandburg, do I look like one of your girlfriends?" Brown, who was passing by Jim's desk, gave him an odd look. In return, Jim gave him the finger.

"Not like most of them, no. But, well," and Sandburg's voice was catching a hesitant tone, "I thought you might be feeling, I don't know, a bit underappreciated. Taken for granted, or something."

"When I need a Hallmark special, I'll let you know." Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. "So no, Sandburg, I do not need a fucking Valentine to feel like I'm being fucking validated, okay?"

Great. Now the whole bullpen was giving him funny looks.

"Oh. Okay. Just making sure, then. I'd hate to think..."

"And I'd hate you to think that." Jim mentally shook himself. This conversation was venturing into places he didn't want to go to. "Don't you have a girlfriend or five to waste your money on?"

"No. I have a reputation." Jim wasn't sure if that was a proud or rueful tone he heard in Sandburg's voice. "Around Valentine's, I seem to be sprayed with Girl-Away."

"Is that so. Anyway, keep your cash to yourself, Casanova. You'll need it." Jim hung up the phone and glared his surroundings down.

The bullpen apparently pacified, Jim opened the box, which had mysteriously migrated to a place conveniently within arm's reach on Sandburg's currently vacant chair. Jim had to grope a few times to find one of the chocolates. He wondered, idly, if Rafe had gotten to them. After all, he couldn't have eaten (he took a look) three quarters of the box already, could he? He only ate one piece a few minutes ago, and one before that when he got up, and before that--

Shit. Jim stared at the box with a new level of respect.

He didn't even like candy that much.

* * *

When his rummaging hand came up with nothing, Jim frowned and picked up the box. He shook it slightly, more out of irritation than of any expectation to find a hidden fugitive bonbon. The box yielded nothing.

"Trust Sandburg to buy the box of candy that lasts for two fucking seconds," he grumbled quietly, but his sense of guilt wouldn't relent. He picked up the phone and dialled.

It rang an indecent number of times (Jim could picture Blair going through his backpack, his desk drawers and some other esoteric locations before finally remembering the damned thing was in his pocket) before Jim heard the rather breathy "Yeah?"

"Uh. Do you want to grab lunch?"

There was a pause before Blair said, "You know, you don't usually sound so cowed when you're offering me a romp through Wonderburger."

"I was actuallly thinking about that Italian place you liked. My treat."

"And just what--" There was another pause, one that was much more pregnant with meaning. "You dirty, greedy little chocolate thief. You finished the entire box by yourself, didn't you."

"You gave them to me," Jim said, and silently cursed himself. He had no need to sound defensive; Blair _did_ give it to him.

Blair let out a long sigh. Jim shrank in his seat.

"I could pick you up in--"

"Oh, no, no, no. You're not getting out of this _quite_ so easily, my friend. I expect a box of my own tomorrow, or else..."

Jim waited a second or two before saying, "You know, Chief, that's not exactly the most original threat ever." He allowed himself a pleased smirk as he heard Blair's bark of surprised laughter. "All right, you got me where you wanted me. I'll serve my god damned punishment - I hope you're happy now, Chief."

Jim winced as he caught sight of a hastily retreating back and wondered wearily why _was_ it exactly that Brown had to pass by his desk at the least fucking appropriate moments.

* * *

He got out to buy the box a bare minute or so after the call, when the stares he was getting from the rest of the bullpen were starting to become oppressive. He knew that it'll pass, eventually - it always did - but right now eventually was too long to wait. He was feeling generally unquiet, and wasn't sure whether to blame H or the unnaturally large amount of paperwork he was supposed to do (all by himself, for once) before he went home tonight. The walk to the shop was actually too short.

He got the box quickly enough; the candy may have been good, but Sandburg's budget assured that, for once, the kid had to go for mass-produced stuff. While Jim was at it, he bought another box; never know when you were gonna piss a date off, he thought, and it's always useful to have emergency gifts around the house.

He honestly believed that until, halfway back to the bullpen, he found that he had already taken off the cellophane cover.

What the hell, he thought, as he reached for the first candy. Maybe it'll sweeten the rest of this shitty afternoon. Not like I'm on a diet.

* * *

By the time the paperwork was done and he could go home already, Jim found his mood had gone from bad to worse. The minutes stretched by with the kind of flexibility Jim had associated with Dali clocks, Brown was whistling off-key in the corner and, worst of all, he was out of candy. He kept eyeing his second desk drawer, then sternly telling himself that no, Blair was not likely to be forgiving if he found out Jim had consumed the apology-chocolates.

He came close to smacking his own hand away from the stuff when Simon marched out of his office and told Jim in no uncertain terms to get out of his bullpen before he personally kicked Jim's ass. "I have enough grouchy sons-of-bitches in here that actually need to be here, Ellison. The last thing I need you fouling up the air as well."

"That's not an original threat, Captain," Jim said, on his way out. Simon scowled at him. Jim smirked and fairly ran out.

* * *

Coming home did not have the desired effect of helping Jim calm the fuck _down_. In fact, he seemed to become more and more irritated every second. He started opening kitchen cabinet doors at random and slamming them back when nothing interesting showed itself. Blair's box of chocolates, sitting unscathed on the table, seemed to look back at Jim with an almost smug impression of you-can't-catch-me, similar to the one Blair himself had when he got out of cleaning the bathroom by some lucky chance.

Jim forced himself to sit down. When he wanted to start fist fights with inanimate objects, it was probably a bad sign. Maybe he should call Sandburg and complain to him about it, if only to share his misery--

Jim straightened up slightly. An involuntary, almost invisible smile crossed his lips. Sounds like he wouldn't even have to use the phone in order to share his current frustration; if he wasn't mistaken, that was Blair's car that had just come to a stop below the building, and that was Blair muttering darkly under his breath that Jim had better be bearing chocolates when Blair next saw him.

He opened the door before Blair opened it-- _just_ before, which meant he had to put a steadying hand on Blair's shoulder lest he fall off onto the apartment floor. "Easy, Chief," he said. "You're supposed to unlock the door, not key it into submission."

"I'll key _you_ into submission, you thieving bastard. Where the hell's my chocolate?" Blair's mouth was set into a line, but his eyes glinted in way that wasn't malevolent as much as it was mischievous.

Jim gestured at the table. Blair surveyed the box with a critical eye and, apparently finding it undamaged, nodded with some satisfaction. "Okay. What's for dinner?" He started rummaging through the fridge.

Jim stared at him incredulously. "Aren't you even going to open it?"

Blair, still bent and giving the fridge's contents a going-over, shrugged. "I don't like candy all that much. It was just the principle of the thing." He straightened up and added, "If you want some, feel free. Just don't finish this one too, okay? I think you've already had your dosage of refined one sugar for, like, a _month_."

"Um," Jim said.

Blair's eyes narrowed. " _Yes_?"

"I ate two boxes, actually. Got another one when I went to get you yours." He wondered why his ears felt so warm all of the sudden. Maybe there was something wrong with the lightning fixtures.

Blair's frown mutated into concern. "Man. You do realize that you consumed the equivalent of eight cups of espresso, right?"

Jim blinked. "Well. That explains some things." Like the fact he'd hardly been able to sit down through the afternoon. Suddenly, he was grateful on an entirely new level that he hadn't eaten Blair's apology-chocolates.

"How are you gonna sleep?" Blair was already walking over to him. "Here, let me take a look at your eyes."

"What good is that gonna do?" But he surrendered to Blair's handling, as always.

Blair flushed almost imperceptibly. "I'm not sure. It just seemed like the right thing to do." He marched Jim to the couch, hesitated for a moment, then brightened up noticeably. "Hey, I know. How 'bout some nice meditation, hmm? Get rid of your sugar rush in no time."

Jim eyed him suspiciously. "Sandburg..."

Blair sighed melodramatically. " _Fine_. Suit yourself. But don't come crying to me when you can't fall asleep." He offered Jim a hand, which Jim took, and levered him off the couch. "Come on. Let's make dinner."

* * *

A few hours later, tossing and turning in bed, Jim thought maybe meditation hadn't been such a bad idea after all. For the fifth time in as many minutes, he turned to stare at the clock, his calculation of sleeping time left turning grimmer and grimmer. He turned to lie on his stomach and fought the urge to howl into the pillow in frustration.

It took him five more minutes of restlessness to give the whole thing up and get up, only to fall back into the bed three seconds afterwards, because he remembered he needed his sleep. True, tomorrow would probably only bring him more paperwork - not like he would need to run or anything - but he would still feel pissed off for most of the day, and that he did _not_ need...

Fuck it, he decided again, and was just going to get up when he froze at the sound of feet going up the stairs.

"What the hell do you want, Sandburg?"

"I dunno. World peace?" Blair said, blithely trespassing into Jim's room and sitting on the corner of his bed, miraculously not stubbing his toes on anything. Jim could see the little nuisance wiggling said toes as he settled more comfortably on Jim's bed and said, "But right now, I'd like you to get some sleep, so _I_ can get some sleep."

"Not working, Einstein." Jim sat up. He didn't feel comfortable having a conversation lying down. Hell, he didn't feel comfortable having a conversation with another person sitting on his bed, but at least he had a choice about the sitting part.

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out. And seeing as you decided to let meditation a pass, I thought I could help you think of, ah, an alternative relaxation technique." Blair's eyes glinted in the dark.

Jim held his breath. Blair was hinting, definitely, but Blair wasn't always serious when he hinted. They didn't do this often, since Blair felt uncomfortable about having sex with someone else when he was in a relationship, if his customary ten-night-stands could be called that. But he did mention that he wasn't seeing anyone at the moment....

He shifted a bit closer to Blair. He could see Blair smile, a flash of white teeth, and then Blair was kissing him.

He groaned and folded backwards, letting Blair crawl on top of him. Yes, this was good, definitely better than meditation or chamomile tea or any other god damned _relaxation technique_ Blair had up his sleeve. This...

Was simply the best.

Blair was warm, and faintly sweet. He bit Jim's lip very, very gently, then sucked Jim's tongue into his mouth. Jim, on his side, simply wrapped his thighs around Blair's and held on. He clutched Blair's hair in one hand and let the other go to Blair's fine ass, which he grabbed with much enthusiasm.

Blair was done with his tongue now, apparently, and was busying himself planting hot little bites on Jim's jaw. "Can I fuck you?" he said, a little breathlessly. "I want to fuck you. Can I?"

Jim laughed, also a little breathlessly. "What the hell do you think, Sandburg?"

Blair's hand had found his way down Jim's front. It gave him a friendly little squeeze. "I think I can," Blair said, and melted into giggles. "I think I can, I think I can," he muttered as his other hand yanked Jim's bedroom drawer open and rummaged blindly.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Don't bring children's literature into my bed, Sandburg. Consider it a house rule."

Blair seemed to ignore this, which was fine by Jim since Blair was now using his concentration for better things, such as opening the tube-o'-lube and swooping down to suck Jim's cock while prepping him up.

At this point, Jim decided it would be best to just spread his legs, close his eyes and enjoy the ride.

* * *

He rolled onto his side and said, contentedly, "Mmm." It seemed as good a summary of his feelings as any.

He heard Blair's quiet laugh, and his own smile grew somewhat larger. A hairy chest pressed itself to his back. Jim leaned back. "You make a good pillow," he said, conversationally.

"Nah. Good pillows don't sweat." But Blair tightened his arms around Jim, not by much, but enough. Blair liked being touched; he kept giving Jim this lecture about how touch was scandalously sexualized in Western society, which Jim might have paid more heed to if Blair hadn't been horny as hell during the part of said lecture in which he demonstrated his point. Using Jim, naturally, as a living visual-and-tactile aid.

But they both had a job to do, and while Jim didn't mind a bit of cuddling, he could never sleep with anyone else in his bed. He knew being made to move away after sex pissed Blair off, but Jim half-suspected sometimes that most of his marriage trouble with Caroline were the direct result of sleep deprivation, and he wasn't going to subject his friendship with Blair to that kind of crap. He elbowed Blair carefully.

Blair refused to acknowledge him until the third poke, after which he said "I'm going, I'm going," in a remarkably snarky tone of voice. "God. I ought to make you get me a Valentine just for this."

"What? Brutalizing you into sleeping with me?"

"Asshole." Blair pulled his boxer shorts back on. "For kicking me out of bed after I did my best to help you get some sound sleep." Blair had gotten good recently with that fake-hurt tone, Jim noticed. Almost enough to fool Sentinel ears into not catching the laughter underneath.

"All out of the goodness of your heart, too. How can I ever live with myself."

Blair planted a soft, unexpected kiss on the back of his neck. "Try." He went down the stairs without waiting for a reply.

Sleep came to Jim quite easily then. But for all he needed it, he couldn't help feeling it might not have been a bad thing to stay awake just a little longer, just to feel Blair's breath touching his shoulder for a few more minutes.

* * *


End file.
